


you are the moon that breaks the night

by transtarboy



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Memory Alteration, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf AU, crude use of apples and a branch, eddie is gay and clueless, mentioned mike/bill/stan but vaguely, mike and eddie are best friends, mike owns and runs the library
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 10:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtarboy/pseuds/transtarboy
Summary: derry has been home to many supernatural creatures in its time, but the latest disturbance is a werewolf who lives in the clearing behind the quarry.eddie goes to find it.





	you are the moon that breaks the night

Derry had always been a strange town; from the witch coven that ran it in the 1800s, the harpy infestation in 1926, that small period of time around the 40s when their town was actually overrun with godling creatures, it went on. Derry has had no shortage of supernatural experiences. Apparently, that's not the case anywhere else, but as unusual and frankly, dangerous, their town was, no one ever seemed to want to leave.

Eddie Kaspbrak was born, raised, and making a life in Derry, just like he always promised himself he wouldn't. He tried, he really did. He moved to a whole other state and everything, but after a month he couldn't stand how  _boring_ the whole thing seemed. Living in Derry was a gamble on your life every day, but at least it was entertaining. He could never quite shake the feeling that he'd accidentally left something behind, either. 

The latest disturbance, according to a group of game hunters in the area, was a werewolf "about the size of a damn mack truck."

"Ain't hurt 'nybody far as I know, but the farmers are gettin' real upset 'bout their livestock." 

Eddie put his fork down, the clink of silverware loud in the near-empty diner. "Where'd you see it?"

The hunter who spoke turned around and inspected him. "By the clearin' behind the quarry. I wouldn't go out there if I was you, boy. Skinny thing like you-'ll be nothin' but a light snack to that beast."

Eddie forced himself to laugh. "Yeah, no of course not. I'm not an idiot."

He was an idiot.

As soon as he got home, he collected everything he thought he would need for his possible encounter with the werewolf. His inhaler, pepper spray, his ID (incase the thing killed him, he wanted to at least be able to be identified), and a small knife, though god knows it wouldn't do him any good.

Why was he doing this again? His mother was long dead, taken by a heart attack when he was only 19. He had no one to rebel against anymore, and no  _reason_ to put himself in danger to prove something. So why the fuck was he about to go look for a werewolf?

That single thought ran through his head as he rode his bike to the quarry. It was a nice day out, thankfully. They had just barely crossed over into October, so the air was cool and pleasant, the sun not too abrasive or bright. The breeze felt nice against his skin, and he figured that if he really was going to die, he was glad it was on such a nice day.

The ride to the quarry wasn't very long; he lived just a few blocks away and loved to see how much faster his bike could go each time he rode it. He had thought about getting a car, but it seemed like a waste of money. His bike was able to get him from point 'a' to point 'b' without fuss. He traveled light, never bought too many groceries at once, never went on spontaneous shopping sprees. His mother may have issued a great many restraints on his lifestyle, but a few of them were choices he made and continued to make. It wasn't a bad thing to be cautious, or frugal. As long as he was physically and mentally able to make impulsive decisions whenever he felt the urge, he didn't see the harm in living the way he did. It made him feel safe, and no one could ever argue that feeling safe was a bad thing.

What he was doing now definitely classified as an impulsive decision.

Eddie dismounted his bike and locked it around a tree, looking off into the woods. It was about a three minute walk from just outside the tree line to the clearing, which meant he didn't have a lot of time to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do. He unzipped his fanny pack, grabbed his inhaler, took a puff, and started walking.

It was nearing dusk, and the sun was getting lower than Eddie felt comfortable with. Why did he decide to come out here right before sundown? He must have some sort of death wish, going to visit a place where there have been multiple werewolf sightings at night. He couldn't explain what was compelling him to do it. He just needed to. He had to see it.

He entered the woods with an eery finality; like he had just sealed his fate in a way he didn't quite want to acknowledge yet. He stepped over fallen twigs, swatting a mosquito away from his face every once in a while. He tried to keep his steps light and his breathing quiet, even though it wouldn't take a creature of supernatural abilities to hear his pounding heart from a mile away.

He stopped just before the break in the trees that opened into the clearing. What the fuck was he doing? Why had he not turned back yet? 

His legs carried him forward before his brain could provide a reasonable answer.

The clearing was huge. From where Eddie was standing, at the edge of the woods, it would take him more than five minutes just to get to the other side of it. He could tell it was probably a sight to see in the daytime, though. The high grass was lush and soft, with small fields of various flowers scattered throughout. It was too dark to identify them at the moment, but he probably wouldn't have been able to anyway. Whatever the opposite of a green thumb was? He had it.

The woods were dense around the clearing, giving him absolutely nothing to work with in terms of where the werewolf might be, if it was even here at all. He considered for a moment that the hunter may have been lying to him to keep him from dying a horrible, painful death. If this went badly, if he made just one mistake, Eddie could kiss his own ass goodbye. The problem was, he had no idea what he should and shouldn't do in the presence (or possible presence) of a werewolf. It probably would have been smart to read up before he marched out here, but it was too late for that.

He wasn't going to cross the clearing. If something happened, he wanted the comfort of the thick woods at his back to hide him, or slow down whatever was chasing him. Out in the clearing he was a sitting duck and that? That would be an even stupider move than actually coming out here in the first place. So, he sat.

And sat.

And sat. He checked his watch, and it told him he'd been out there for almost an hour. He sighed, surprised that he felt... kind of disappointed. It wasn't like he really wanted to die or anything, but he  _had_ been hoping to catch at least a glimpse of it instead of going home to another boring, empty night in his boring, empty house. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he'd left his dinner at that boring, empty house.

"Ah, fuck," he complained. "I'm starving."

A twig snapped across the field from him, and he whipped his head up. There, between the thick trees, hovered two glowing, white lights.  _Eyes_ , his mind told him, and he did the only thing he could do.

He ran.

* * *

Eddie woke up the next morning convinced last night had been a dream. Like he would  _ever_ go out and look for a werewolf. At night. On his own. On  _purpose._

As if.

He rolled out of bed, stretching his arms up above his head in an intensely satisfying way. He yawned, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen to find something to eat.

He made himself some cereal, not having the energy to cook anything. It was sugary and sweet, the exact kind his mother never let him have, but he always knew he'd love. And he was right. It was probably disintegrating his insides, but it was honestly so fucking good that it really didn't matter.

He chewed absentmindedly, sifting through yesterday's mail and realizing he hadn't gone to get today's yet.  _Might as well_ , he thought after checking the time to make sure the postman had come through already. He rarely ever woke up so late; he must had nighttime tea before bed. That would explain the dream he had.

Eddie set his bowl down onto the counter with a soft  _clunk_ and headed for the front door. He opened the door, expecting to a relatively stress-free walk to the mailbox and back. Instead, he nearly stepped on a rabbit carcass.

He jumped backwards, a scream caught in his throat as he gripped the doorknob and stared at the dead animal on his doorstep.  _What– who–_

_Who would do this?_

He felt his stomach turn and slammed the door shut, running to the bathroom. After he'd lost his breakfast and flushed, he called animal control. Honestly he could have handled it himself, but getting sick like that always put him out of commission for at least a couple hours, and he didn't want it sitting on his porch for longer than necessary.

He sat at his kitchen table, going over the events of yesterday. Who had he pissed off? He went to the grocery store, the bank, and then went to the animal shelter to work his shift until five. Then he went to the diner, and then...

He swallowed thickly. If he had dreamt about going out to find a fucking werewolf... why can't he remember what he did after the diner tomorrow? He looked over to the door and looked at his normally-impeccably clean, white Keds. The bottoms were caked with dried mud.

God, he really was an idiot.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. He had no idea what possessed him to do something so stupid. And to top it off, the thing had probably  _seen_ him! Actually, it had almost definitely seen him, going by the dead animal outside his door. The question was, why the fuck would it go through the trouble of leaving him that? A warning? Stay away or you're next?

He had no clue. And he needed to get one. Quick.

He made himself some seltzer water and grabbed Saltines from the cabinet, settling down in front of the television to kill some time while his stomach settled. He was going to the library first thing. They had books on all kinds of species that had inhabited Derry at one point or another. He just hoped that there had been a werewolf problem before this one.

After he felt well enough to leave the house, he took a shower and brushed his teeth. He slipped into his high school alumni sweater and some jeans, wondering if he was overdressed for the weather.

"Went on a scavenger hunt for a werewolf yesterday, and I'm worried about being too warm," he scoffed, rolling his eyes at himself. He decided against bringing his fanny pack; he had a pretty decent memory and wouldn't need to bring a notepad or anything. Anything he read today was guaranteed to stick in his mind.

Eddie grabbed his house keys and made for the door, stepping into his dirty Keds. _I should clean them at some point_ , he thought, as he shut the front door behind him and stepped out onto his now-empty porch. He locked it, and then went down the stairs to unchain his bike from the staircase bars.

He lived a little ways from town, so the ride to the library was at least 15 minutes or so. It was another nice day, cooler than usual, so his choice of clothing hadn't failed him. He waved to everyone he saw; Derry was a small town and everyone knew everyone. He didn't want to see rude, and regardless of how his morning went, he was in a decent mood.

When he got to the library, he chained his bike up to the rack and head inside.

"Look who it is," came a playful voice from behind the counter. Mike Hanlon, one of his childhood best friends, smiled broadly at him and came around the counter to wrap him up in a big hug. "I came by yesterday but you weren't home."

"Ah yeah," Eddie laughed awkwardly, but giving him a genuine hug back. "I uh, I went for a walk."

Mike gave him a look like he didn't believe him, but he was going to let it slide anyway. "So what are you here for? Come to take me to lunch?"

He batted his eyelashes, and Eddie shook his head, amused. Mike owned the library. He was always the biggest history nerd growing up, and really, it made sense that he took it over as soon as he had the money. He loved books, and he loved the peaceful quiet of the building.

"I'll take you to dinner instead, if you help me find a book I'm looking for."

Mike clapped his hands together triumphantly. "Nice! What book?"

"Got anything on uh," Eddie scratched the back of his neck, beyond embarrassed to be even asking. "Werewolves?"

To his credit, Mike didn't even blink. He just shrugged and motioned for Eddie to follow him down the long hallway to the small room with the restricted books. Well, they weren't so much restricted as... not to be put on shelves next to  _Huckleberry Finn_. So, an unspoken rule in the library was that people have to ask for access to those books, rather than keeping them out in the open. Mike was the only one with the key, and the door was always, always locked.

They stopped in front of a large, heavy oak door. Mike conjured the key from somewhere on his person and slid it into the lock, turning it with a resounding click. He gave it a heavy push, and the door creaked open with a noise that sounds deafening in the silence of the empty library.

Inside, among tall black bookshelves lining every wall, sat every journal, every book, every massive...  _tomb_ of information on any and all supernatural creatures and occurrences Derry had been privy too over the last few centuries or so. The room was immaculate –of course, Mike kept everything in perfect condition no matter how much work it took– and there were two large, comfortable-looking armchairs surrounding a small round coffee table in the center of the room. Eddie couldn't imagine many people came looking for this kind of information, hence there only being two chairs, but he was glad to have something comfortable to sit in while he learned how to (hopefully) not die confronting a werewolf.

 _Confronting_ , Eddie snorted. It sounded like he was going to challenge the werewolf to a duel, when in reality, he was going to end up back at the clearing, trying to politely ask this creature to not leave him any more dead things. Assuming it could even understand him, which he knew was an enormous assumption to make about a creature he knew nothing about.

Well, nothing yet.

Mike led him to the wall on the righthand side of the room. _Of course even the restricted books were alphabetized_ , Eddie thought, rolling his eyes fondly at his best friend. Only he would bother organizing books most people didn't even know existed, or bothered to look for. Still, it made their search a thousand times easier, and he was grateful they wouldn't have to sift through centuries of information.

"W... W..." Mike repeated under his breath, scanning the labels on the shelves. "Ha! W!"

Eddie helped him search through the W's. As it would turn out, there were a lot of books in the W section. Witches, wendigos, water sprites, white ladies... the list went on. Finally, after a few minutes of searching, Mike made a triumphant sound, pulling a small book from between two much larger ones. It looked like it was barely more than 50 pages, and certainly did notlook promising.

"I think this is all I got," Mike said apologetically. He held the book out for Eddie to take. He accepted it tentatively, wondering what he would find inside of that tiny book. "I know it looks shrimpy, but give it a chance. It might surprise you."

Eddie wondered about his tone, but then again, he wouldn't bet against Mike having read every book in his library– especially something as interesting as the town's supernatural history. He probably knew more than he was letting on, but Eddie wasn't going to push it. He had to figure it out on his own. And there was no way in hell he was letting Mike, in all his mother hen tendencies, know he had gone out to find a werewolf after sundown. And he was definitely not telling him he went alone.

"Thanks, Mike. I owe you one," he said, absentmindedly thumbing the thin spine. Mike ruffled his hair and walked past him, grabbing the door knob to let himself out.

"You owe me dinner, Kaspbrak. Dinner."

Eddie nodded once, deeply, a silly grin on his face that matched Mike's. "Yes, my liege."

Mike rolled his eyes and heaved the giant door shut. It closed with a heavy thud, and then he was alone, holding a ridiculously small book that may (or may not) hold the reason why he threw his breakfast up within minutes of eating it that morning. He walked over to one of the giant armchairs next to the table in the center of the room and flopped into it. He sunk back into the cushions, resisting the urge to groan happily. Mike was a legend, a king, a god among men. Of course this fucking chair was the best thing he'd put his ass on in his entire life.

Eddie shook his head, kicking off his shoes and curling up in the chair to start in on the book. He wasn't surprised to find himself suddenly afraid of opening it, even though it could all be bullshit. The skinny paperback book was black with white text, and under the heading there was a small, white circle, which he assumed was supposed to be a full moon.  _A Field Guide to Werewolves and How to Understand Them_ by Amaraldo Griffin. Whoever that guy was, he was either about to save Eddie's ass, or hand it over on a silver platter.

He opened the book to the first page.

There, in big bold letters, was a single sentence.

**_DO NOT EVER ATTEMPT TO SEEK OUT A WEREWOLF WITHOUT PROPER KNOWLEDGE AND TRAINING!_ **

_Well... looks like I failed step one,_ Eddie thought humorlessly. He turned the page.

 _Now that you're aware of what_ not  _to do, let's start with a general introduction about werewolves. As most people know, werewolves were humans that were either 1) bitten by a werewolf or 2) born with the recessive gene passed on through their family tree. They shift once a month by force of the full moon, or voluntarily (some would say involuntarily) in the aftermath of a traumatic experience. Rarely, though it has been known to happen, a werewolf will get stuck in their shifted forms and unable to return to their human selves. We'll discuss that in a later section._

_While most werewolves tend to feed on livestock and other such available sources of food, they have no qualms about snacking on humans, should one be in the wrong place at the wrong time. What you, dear reader, must understand is that they are not themselves in shift. There is no guarantee a werewolf even remembers themselves beyond the hunt, and the call of the moon. They are creatures, just as any ghoul or jersey devil is, and they should be respected as such first. They are massive, industrial truck-sized beings who are just as dangerous as they look. This is not to say you should shoot first and ask questions later– in fact, I am entirely against this archaic notion that werewolves are not people before they are wolves. Humans in general tend to lack a certain level of compassion for supernatural people, especially those who take on forms that appear less human than others._

_Remember: Werewolves are people, too. They have families, jobs, lives. They all come from somewhere and most, if not all, have someone they need to come home to. All werewolves go home when the sun rises and the shift has run its course, and that is something we, as well as they, sometimes forget. I cannot tell you how to remind them. If you truly love one, if you need to bring them home, the answer is obvious._

Eddie furrowed his brow. This book wasn't answering any of his questions. If anything, it was making him even more confused. If a werewolf only shifted on full moons, why had he been hearing stories about the one in Derry for over a month now? Was it stuck in shift? Was it even a werewolf? None of it was making any sense, but he couldn't afford to disregard any information about it. He kept reading.

_Here are a few basic things to know about how to handle an encounter, and a few general points that are essential to your survival as a fragile bag of flesh:_

_1._ ** _Never present yourself as a threat._** _They are not bears. Making noise and standing big makes you a target– a yummy target. Not recommended on any level._  
_2._ ** _Try not to wear any reflective clothing._** _It will look similar to a deer's eyes flashing, and again, you will probably die._  
_3._ ** _Do not offer them food. You are food._**  
_4._ ** _Always know where the exits are_** _, and_ ** _wear appropriate shoes_** _. You may need to run. You may need to run_ fast _._  
_5._ ** _Learn to read body language_** _: raised haunches and bristling fur are not good signs. Back up out of whatever space you're in and either give them time to relax or just leave._  
_6._ ** _Werewolves are pack creatures, they look out for their own_** _. Should they sense one of the members is not taking care of themselves properly, one of them will take it upon themselves to hunt for them, bathe them, play with them, and get them back on their feet. They are also intensely protective of their wounded._  
_7._ ** _A lone werewolf is far more dangerous than one with a pack_** _, but it is not unusual to see them display the above mannerisms to humans they share a close bond with._  
_8._ ** _Tread lightly and respect the werewolf's territory_** _. You are on his turf, and he knows the area far, far better than you do, I guarantee it. Especially at night._

Eddie looked up from the book. What had he done last night? He wasn't abrasive, he kept his distance and stayed as quiet as possible. He didn't have any food on him, in fact, the last time he'd eaten was a few hours befo–

The snapped branch in the woods. It happened right after his embarrassing stomach grumbled. Right after he actually said he was hungry out loud. And that's when he saw its eyes. He closed the book, leaning his head back against the armchair. That didn't make any sense. He didn't know any werewolves, and he especially didn't know this one. There was no correlation between last night and the dead rabbit on his doorstep besides his growling stomach. It had to be a coincidence. It had to.

And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't. 

He hadn't gotten a very good look at the rabbit this morning, but it did have what looked like teeth marks near its neck, which crossed out any possibility of it being one of the hunters from the diner playing a little prank on him. Either way, it didn't make sense. Werewolves supposedly hunt for members of its pack, and Eddie was sure he was not, nor had ever been, part of a werewolf pack of any sort. He had his friend group when he was younger, but that's as far as that went.

He groaned, realizing if  _this_ was why the werewolf left him that little... gift, if he somehow confused Eddie for a member of his pack, he needed to go back to the clearing and fix the situation. He really didn't want to wake up to another dead body on his porch. Eddie closed the book and rose from the armchair, looking out the window and noticing the sun was much lower than it had been. It had to be around four or five, which meant Mike was probably waiting for him to take him to dinner.

Eddie left the room, closing the heavy door behind him. He carried the book to the front desk, where Mike was sitting.

"I'm gonna need to take this home."

* * *

 

Dinner was uneventful. Him and Mike went to a nondescript restaurant and ordered a ridiculous amount of appetizers instead of meals, like they always do, like they have since they were kids. They talk about their friends, new books Mike was getting in the library, and absolutely never mentioned werewolves of any kind. Eddie could tell Mike wanted to say something whenever there was a lull in their conversation, but he stuffed his face and avoided eye contact.

He wasn't ready to explain the situation to Mike, even though he knew his friend genuinely would never judge him. He just hadn't come to terms with what he was doing by himself yet, let alone finding a way to explain it to somebody else. He made sure to ask how Bill was doing, and when he was coming home from his traveling art exhibit gig. Mike told him Stan had taken time off from the accounting firm and gone with him, but they would be back home on the farm soon enough. Within the month, actually. Eddie could tell he was excited, the way Mike kept ducking his head to sip at his Cola to hide his smile.

The three of them had been together since high school, to literally no one's surprise. Ben and Beverly had been an item pretty much since they met. Eddie was the only one who never had someone like the others did, and while he remembered being upset about it, it didn't bother him so much anymore. He still felt like he was... missing something, some _one_  perhaps, but it's never been overwhelming, and it only ever got worse he left town, for some odd reason. Maybe Derry was the great love of his life, he thought wryly.

Mike dropped him and his bike home in his pick-up truck after making Eddie promise he would call. He blew Mike a kiss and laughed when he was given the finger in return.

He waited for Mike to turn the corner before flinging the book into the bushes lining his porch steps (sorry Mike, he hoped it wasn't damaged), mounting his bike, and riding towards the clearing as quickly as he could. It was already dark, which was just his luck, but he really did not need to wake up to another dead animal tomorrow, and it looked like this was the only way to do it. Hopefully, if he followed the book's guidelines, he would once again avoid getting eaten. Except he didn't read the whole thing. And might have missed vital information. Even worse, maybe the book was wrong as fuck and the rabbit  _was_  a warning, and he was going to die either way.

Only one way to find out.

The bullshit light on his bike flickered as he neared the quarry, and he took it as a sign he was definitely, definitely going to die. Of course, he forgot to bring his inhaler, the only comfort item he really needed right then.

He turned his bike into the grass and slowed to a stop, dismounting and locking it up around the same tree as last night. He took care with his steps through the woods again, keeping quiet and wishing to god he'd been smart enough to bring a flashlight or  _something._ He was navigating blindly through the trees, with only his fingers trailing along the rough bark to keep him on the trail. The last thing he needed was to get lost in the fucking woods at night with a werewolf on the loose.

When he finally happened upon the break in the trees, he was almost relieved. He had no idea how he was going to get back, but at least he'd made it there safely. Eddie inched out of the safe cluster of trees and into the clearing for the second time.

The air was still– silent. There wasn't a single chirp from a cricket, or rustle of leaves from a squirrel up above in the trees; just the sound of his decreasingly labored breathing and the rush of blood in his ears. He knew he wasn't alone, though. He could feel it. Something was watching him from across the clearing again, and he knew if he looked in that direction, he would see those glowing eyes again.

So he didn't look. Instead, he focussed on his shoes and started talking.

"H-hey, uh–" he winced as his voice broke. He was off to a great start. "It's me, again. I don't, uh, know if you remember me? But I was here last night and– well, I don't mean to accuse you of anything, but I think you might have left me a... a  _gift,_ for me to find this morning."

Silence. The air was getting thicker, somehow.

Eddie cleared his throat as quietly as he could, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. "It's not– not that I don't  _appreciate_ your... efforts, I do. Thank you, if you did that for me because I said I was hungry yesterday. It was a nice gesture. But, um."

He didn't know how to continue without accidentally offending the creature watching him intently. Honestly, he was impressed he wasn't shaking like a leaf. He was frightened, but he didn't get the feeling he was in any danger. Yet.

Eddie heard the leaves rustle in an almost...  _impatient_ way, across the clearing. He quickly thought of something to say before the werewolf (he assumed) became agitated.

"I'm a vegetarian," he blurted out. "I don't know if you know what that means but uh, I don't eat meat? My friend Mike actually, ah, got me into it because he's a vegan and well– that doesn't matter. Anyway, my point is, thank you, but um, if you could... not... leave me anymore dead animals? That would be awesome. I promise I can feed myself. Um, I have food at home."

He doesn't get a response, and he wasn't expecting one.

"Okay well, that's all I guess. Uh, goodnight." And with that he turned around and headed back into the trees.

But it was fucking dark, and he couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face. He tried to stay calm, trailing his fingertips along the trees like he did on his way in, but somehow it had gotten darker and the moon was nowhere to be found. The woods were cloaked in pitch black darkness, and he could feel the panic rising in his chest.

He stopped short, leaning his back against a tree and trying to calm his breathing.

_10... 9... 8... 7... 6... fuck, 10... 9... 8... 7–_

Eddie felt the pressure rise in his chest, his throat closing and his hands searching for an inhaler he didn't bring. He can't see, he's lost, he's going to die out here and no one will come looking for him and–

Something hit the side of his leg, and it's all he can do not to scream. He reached a trembling hand down to touch whatever it was. It was plastic. Cylindrical, with a flared top or base, he didn't quite know. He lifted it up to feel around with his other hand, and felt along the flared part and found glass, or plastic, inside the raised lip.  _Flashlight_ , he realized with a rush of relief, and immediately felt around for the switch.

The bright light floods the woods, and Eddie squinted to adjust to the intensity. He looked around, aiming the flashlight in the direction it seemed to come from. He just barely caught the very end of something black, furry, and taller than almost two of himdisappearing back into the clearing.

"Thank you," he whispered shakily, and then made his way out of the woods, flashlight gripped in his sweaty hand.

When he woke up the next morning, safe in his bed, he threw his covers off and ran to his front door. There, strewn precariously on his step, sat three heavily bruised, punctured apples.

Eddie laughed until his stomach ached.

* * *

 

He made a habit of going to the clearing every day, now. He went during the early morning hours, while the rest of Derry was quiet and everybody was at work. Eddie didn't feel like having to explain to anybody why he was always at the quarry.

But he'd been right about the beauty of the clearing.

Trekking through the woods was much easier in the daytime, and the birds singing in the trees up above him combined with the glowing sheets of sunshine split by the leaves of the trees made for a serene hike. He found himself excited to visit the werewolf, and every day hoped he might have a chance to lay eyes on it again. From what he could gather that one night, it really was massive. Its fur was either black or a very dark grey, and had looked pretty matted at the time, which didn't surprise Eddie. He can't imagine there was any place a gigantic werewolf could get a full spa treatment, even in a place as strange as Derry.

The trail to the clearing opened into the beautiful open space, and the sight of it took Eddie's breath away. That wasn't saying much (lots of things did), but it really was a magnificent sight. Tall, lush green grass covered every inch of ground throughout the clearing, just barely swaying in the cool October breeze, which was kept mostly at bay by all of the trees. There were so many flowers scattered among the grass Eddie imagined it would take him more than a whole day's worth of work just to count them all; gorgeous bursts of white, yellow, purples, blues, and even reds. The colors of the flowers complimented the increasingly gradient leaves in the trees, painting a masterpiece only nature could create.

He wasn't a poet by any means, but it was definitely the kind of shit one  _would_  write about.

Eddie's favorite spot to lay was right in the center of the clearing, even though it took him ages to get there. He wasn't afraid of the wolf anymore. He could sit in the clearing and talk all day if he wanted to, and he knew he wasn't in any danger. He remembered the first time he came back to the clearing after finding the apples on his doorstep.

_"How come I can't see you even when the sun's out?" Eddie wondered, laying on his back, braiding three pieces of grass together. He glanced at the tree line, noting that it really wasn't all that thick, and there was no wolf to be found. He knew it was there. They had established a tentative form of communication; Eddie would stick to 'yes' or 'no' questions, and the wolf would make a different sound for each. Rustling the leaves for 'yes', and snapping a twig for 'no'._

_He hummed, squinting under the high sun. "Are you hiding from me?"_

**_Snap._ **

_"Are you hiding from other people?"_

**_Rustle._ ** ****

_Eddie sat up, abandoning his grass braid. "Woah, wait, hold on. So you're like..._ invisible? _"_

**_Snap. Snap._ **

_"Okay! Shit, relax. Uh... is it like camouflage?"_

_The leaves rustled enthusiastically, and Eddie let out a triumphant "Ha!"._

_While the whole idea was... beyond cool, he felt horrible for the werewolf. He had to imagine it would be tough trying to find help, not even visible in the daylight and appearing as an unbelievably enormous creature at night._

_He picked up his grass braid and resumed working, humming a song for them both under his breath._

That had been just the beginning of his visits. And, coincidentally, when he started receiving even  _more_ gifts. Not so much food anymore, but little trinkets of various types that never failed to amuse him. He had a collection gathering on his kitchen table; old buttons, an empty film container, a small stuffed bear, large smooth rocks of all different colors, seashells, a jingle bell, a rusted ladle (that one was weird), and a piece of fabric with what looked like Hawaiian pattern print on it.

The stuffed bear made him inexplicably sad, however. Its fur was dirty and stained, but in a weird way with water marks like someone had attempted to dunk-wash it unsuccessfully. His heart clenched in his chest as he considered the possibility that it might have been the werewolf itself trying to keep the bear clean and cared for. It was probably originally a golden-brown, but it looked more grey than anything now. One of the button eyes was missing and it needed stitching up in some places where the fluff had begun to spill out.

One day, in a burst of determination, Eddie picked the bear up off the table and decided it was time for teddy bear surgery. He removed the stuffing from inside and undid the little torn bow around its neck. He carefully scrubbed the fur and tried to get as many stains out as possible, drying it off in the machine. Pulling out his craft container from the closet, he dragged it to the table and removed the top, letting it drop onto the floor beside him. He pulled out his sewing kit, some new cotton fluff, some silk blue ribbon, and a small box of buttons.

He spent all night carefully preparing the teddy for his surprise the morning after. He stuffed it up to comfortably plushness, and sewed it back up with surgical precision, his bifocals assisting him tremendously in the task. Who knew fixing a stuffed animal was so much fucking work? It would be worth it, though, to know he helped give the werewolf a bit of comfort, and a small piece of home again. He didn't know where the bear came from or who it belonged to before the wolf, but it was obvious it loved the toy very much. Eddie didn't know why it would give it to  _him_ , but that was a mystery for another time.

He carefully cut the pretty blue ribbon into an easily tie-able length, wrapping it around the stuffed bear's neck and then stitching it into the back of its neck with matching thread. He carefully constructed the neat bow and considered it a job well done. Then, he moved on to the eyes.

He cut the stitching through the remaining button and removed both it and the old thread. He then removed the thread from the opposite eye as well. Eddie carefully sifted through the box of buttons to find two matching black buttons, carefully stitching them on and then leaning back to admire his handiwork. It looked... kinda great, actually. He had no idea if the werewolf would appreciate it half as much, but he was eager to find out.

* * *

 

Eddie stepped into the clearing the next morning bursting with excitement. He was carrying a backpack with him this time, to conceal the teddy bear before the werewolf set eyes on it and ruined the surprise. He sat in the middle of the clearing again, crisscrossing his legs and setting his backpack on top of them.

"I have a present for you!" He announced, waiting for the telltale tremble in the ground as the werewolf came to see him.

Sure enough, he felt them within a few seconds. The vibrations seemed oddly intense, like the wolf was taking heavier steps.

He shrugged, unzipping his bag and pulling out the repaired teddy. "Fixed him up, good as new." 

A strong breeze came from behind him and mussed his hair, making him grumble and try to flatten it again. The trees were oddly still. There were no shaking leaves, no snapped twigs, no rustle of dead leaves on the ground. Nothing. Eddie furrowed his brow. He felt the werewolf's steps. Where had it gone?

He turned around to look at the opposite end of the clearing, and was instead met with huge muzzle filled with giant, sharp teeth.

Eddie screamed, scrambling backwards in an ineffective, flailing crab walk. His heart leaped into his throat, his hand still clutching the teddy bear as he took in the beast in front of him.

It was fucking enormous, and  _jesus christ,_ terrifying with its teeth out in the open like that. Those canines looked to be about the length of his forearm, and the thought alone sent Eddie frantically digging through his backpack for his inhaler without taking his eyes off of the werewolf. Its fur was a deep shade of black, unkempt and knotted but not unclean. Its legs were like tree trunks, thick muscle all throughout and impossibly sharp claws at the end of his monster-truck-wheel-sized paws.

The wolf's eyes were a dark brown, alight with an intelligence Eddie wasn't used to seeing in animals. Then again, this was no animal. 

"T-t–," Eddie stuttered, and then took a puff of his inhaler. It soothed him enough to give him a chance to speak. " _Teeth."_

The creature's eyes widened and its mouth snapped shut. It backed up out of Eddie's space and sat down a ways from him, looking... apologetic?

Eddie could have almost laughed. This enormous, dangerous werewolf, that shook the ground when it walked, felt sorry for frightening him. God, what even was his life?

He gave himself a few minutes to calm down, closing his eyes to find some strength inside of him.  _10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1._

When he finished his countdown, he opened his eyes, and let himself register that he was sitting in front of a werewolf whose paw was almost as big as his entire body. He let out an incredulous, hysterical giggle.

The werewolf's head titled curiously, and it leaned its muzzle forward and sniffed the air. It seemed to be pleased with whatever it found, so Eddie didn't ask. Instead, he tried to remember why he came this morning.

 _Oh, right! The teddy bear_ , he thought, realizing he was still holding it in one of his hands. He moved to inched forward on his hands and knees, placing the bear onto the grass between them. The werewolf's eyes darted from the toy, to him, back to the toy, and so on.

A smile spread across Eddie's face before he could process it. The wolf was waiting for permission.

"Go ahead, dude," Eddie said, gesturing to the bear. "It's yours anyway, right?"

The werewolf shifted its paws, leaning its head forward just barely and lowering it quite a bit to grab the teddy bear with painstaking care. It let out an excited huff when it dropped the toy in front of itself and inspected it.

Eddie realized it was probably really rude of him to keep calling the werewolf 'it'.

"Not to like, ruin the moment or anything, but are you a... guy? Or a girl? Does it even matter to your kind?"

The wolf stopped sniffing the toy and looked at Eddie out of the corner of its eye. It rose from its sitting position abruptly, loping off into the trees.

 _Good job, idiot_ , Eddie thought.  _You offended it._

Despite his worry, the werewolf returned a moment later, carrying a large branch in its mouth. It stopped a few feet away from Eddie and dropped the branch, causing a small gust of wind to rush over him. Curiously, the creature drops two apples out of its mouth as well. Eddie sat up and leaned forward on his hands. What was it doing?

After nudging the items around a bit, the werewolf sat back on its hind legs and made a beckoning motion with its head. Eddie stared at it, and then shrugged, standing up to walk over and look at whatever the wolf had created.

It... was a dick.

The branch was slotted between the two apples, which lay on their side of its base. And, Eddie noted with no small amount of amusement, the branch was way, way out of proportion with the fruit.

"You're fucking disgusting."

The werewolf threw his head back and made a deep chuffing noise in his throat. Eddie watched in surprise as he continued to make that noise, which reminded him tremendously of laughter. He stared at the wolf with a raised eyebrow until, despite his best efforts, he broke into laughter too.

To Eddie's surprise, he felt entirely relaxed. He was comfortable in the werewolf's presence, even though his legs were taller than Eddie's entire body. He carried a friendly, playful demeanor that was nice to be around in an oddly familiar way. Before long, Eddie found himself laying back into the grass to watch the wolf carefully sniff and nose at the teddy bear.

It was almost unbelievable, but when he met Eddie's eyes, there was a distinctly grateful sheen in them. His ears were relaxed, not flat but not high at attention either. He circled the tiny teddy multiple times before he found a satisfactory position and curled up, the stuffed bear against his underbelly, protected by his legs.

Eddie allowed himself a moment to process the fact that he was laying in a clearing with a werewolf that not even ten minutes ago had formed a dick and balls out of apples and a tree branch. He used to dream about having extraordinary things happen to him, and this probably counted as one of them. Growing up in supernatural-infested Derry  _sounded_ a lot more fun than it really was. His mother only ever let him leave the house for school, and even then it was up to how she felt that morning, but he remembered having a lot more freedom when he was younger. He had so many memories of his friends and their little losers club running through these same woods, swimming in the quarry, hunting for ghosts late at night when they were meant to be home in their beds. He can't quite remember when his mother decided to basically imprison him in their house, but he was about 14 at the time. It was a fuzzy blur in his memory, but it didn't matter anymore. He was here now, 24 years old with a cool breeze in his hair, the glow of the morning sun on his face, and a werewolf with a disgusting sense of humor a few feet away.

He really couldn't complain about his life being boring. 

"I think this is the craziest day I've ever had," Eddie confessed, looking over to address the decidedly lazy creature. "What about you?"

The werewolf cracked one brown eye open and gave him the most unimpressed look anyone's ever given him in his life. Eddie bit his lip, feeling a little stupid.

"Right."

They were both silent for a moment.

"Hey," Eddie spoke up again. The wolf huffed in acknowledgement. "Do you ever think about, I don't know, going home? I mean... can you?"

He rolled over onto his stomach, resting his chin on his arms. The werewolf's ears twitched, flattening for just a split second before springing back up. He didn't make a sound. Eddie felt like the biggest asshole in the universe.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories, I just– I keep thinking about how lonely it must be out here. And I know werewolves aren't supposed to stay shifted longer than the full moon's influence, or at least, I read that somewhere. Who knows if it's even accurate, but my point  _is,_ do you want to? Do you even... remember where that is?"

The werewolf opened his eyes to stare directly into Eddie's. He gasped, not really understanding why. The wolf nodded, just once, just slightly, and then rested his head back down and closed his eyes again. Eddie decided to drop the subject. He settled for watching the grass in front of the wolf's nose dance in the wake of his breathing.

Later that night, when he fell asleep, he dreamt about wild curls, Hawaiian print shirts, and spaghetti. The next morning, he would blame it on his sleepy time tea, head to the front porch, and find a faded, almost completely ruined,  _wet,_ decade-old newspaper on his front porch.

In big, barely-there letters, sat one word in the middle of the paper.

**MISSING**

* * *

 

Eddie had poured over every detail he could distinguish in the newspaper after he left it to dry. Most of it was illegible, which was massively inconvenient and made his task much harder than it needed to be. 

_Missing._

Was this who the werewolf was? Was this article about him? Did he live in Derry, then? Had Eddie  _known_ him? Derry was a small town, a really small town, there was no way they wouldn't have crossed paths before. It was impossible.

The few things he could pick out from the article were largely unhelpful. From what he gathered, whoever this was, vanished without a trace in the middle of the night. Eddie could make out the words 'friends', 'bike', 'clothing remains', and 'parents' in the article, and that was about it for context.

This clearly had something to do with the werewolf, something important, otherwise he wouldn't have gone through the trouble to give it to Eddie. If the wolf was this missing kid, and Eddie had a gut feeling he was, then he was trusting Eddie to find his story and help him.

And that's exactly what Eddie was going to do.

He gathered his things after he dressed for the day, practically running out the door. He was heading to the library again. Mike was sure to have archives of old newspaper clippings, and Eddie knew they'd all be organized in a perfectly convenient way, as his best friend was wont to do.

He made it to the library in record time, locking his bike up and taking the stairs two at a time, his backpack a familiar weight at his back. It was already around three in the afternoon, but he was determined to find this kid. He brought the old newspaper along, as well as a notebook, a pen, and some snacks. He didn't know how long this would take, and as much as he enjoyed Mike's vegan lunches, he needed these Goldfish to get him through the day.

Eddie was practically tingling with anticipation. Whatever this was, whoever this was, felt like a solution to a problem he didn't know he had. If he figured this out, if he rubbed all of his stupid brain cells together and put all of his effort into it, he could potentially be saving a life.

He stopped just outside of the library door.

His discoveries (or lack-there-of) today would either help give the werewolf a chance at a normal life again, assuming he had one, or seal his fate. Eddie didn't know if he cared much for the way that thought settled heavily on his shoulders. This was his responsibility now, and his mom, fucked up as she was, didn't raise a bitch.

He shoved the heavy library doors open.

When he walked in, Mike was sitting behind the counter again, eating what looked like... greenbeans. With chopsticks. Eddie shook his head fondly at his friend's strange quirk. ' _They're like short noodles, Eddie. It makes sense,_ ' Mike had tried to explain the first time Eddie caught him eating them like that back in high school.

Eddie would have teased him about it for  _ages,_ but Mike's rabbit just had kits, and he was dying to hold one. He wasn't going to have his bunny privileges taken away over some fucking green beans. He deserved to hold a ball of heavenly softness. 

"Hey man!" Mike called over the counter, breaking him out of his little flashback. Eddie waved at him, walking up to the counter and sighing dramatically. Mike set his bowl down and laid his chopsticks on a napkin off to the side. "Uh oh, what's that sound for?"

"I have a mammoth of a task today, Mike," Eddie complained, playing it up. If his plan worked, Mike would help him search the archives. If not, he was doomed to spend eternity in printed hell.

Mike raised his eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And what might that be?"

"I have to find a newspaper article from like, ten years ago," Eddie pouted. Mike's lips quirked up. He was totally on to him.

"Aaaand let me guess; you want me to help."

Eddie nodded pitifully, clasping his hands together in a desperate plea. "I'll die in there without you, Mike. Don't you love me? I don't judge your greenbean eating habits."

" _Only_ because you like having first pick of the litter whenever my animals have babies," Mike replied, already grabbing the key for the archive boxes. "But I guess I kinda like you, so. I'll help."

Eddie whooped, completely forgetting where they were.

"Shh!" Mike reminded him, his pointer finger held up in front of his lips. Eddie mimed zipping his mouth shut and followed Mike up the stairs.

The archive room was the biggest space in the library, and for good reason. There were hundreds upon hundreds of locked and dated metal boxes stacked on top of each other all over the room, some reaching higher than even Mike could reach, in all his 6'3'' glory.

"Fuck me," Eddie breathed, already overwhelmed at what looked like a hopeless task.

"I don't think my husbands would appreciate that very much."

Eddie half-mindedly punched Mike in the shoulder, and then walked over to where it looked like all of the news articles were kept. "I need to find an article on a missing kid from 1988."

Mike sucked in air through his teeth. " _That_  might be a problem."

Eddie groaned as Mike approached him, unlocked the metal cabinet labeled "1988", and opened it. There were stacks upon stacks of newspapers, which Eddie wasn't surprised about. 365 days in a year added up to quite a few papers to sort through, but headlines like "MISSING" would be easy to spot. He'd find the article in no time.

That's what he thought, anyway.

Mike removed the front couple stacks of papers and pulled out another one from the back. This one was smaller, around 20 or 30, but the first headline he saw had what he was looking for right on it. Eddie was about to jump up and down before Mike gave him an apologetic look and brought the stack over to the empty table off to the right.

Eddie stood back as Mike laid out paper after paper of missing kid articles across the table. When he was done, 34 individual newspapers looking almost identical to the one he found on his porch this morning laid in front of him.

"What the  _fuck_ ," Eddie gaped, almost not believing what he was seeing. There was no way there were that many disappearances in Derry that year. How did he not know about this? He'd never heard of any of these kids, and a good lot of them looked to have been his age. "Mike, how come I don't remember any of these?"

Mike shook his head, his mouth pulled tight. "I don't know. Do you remember how weird the eighth grade was? Do you remember it at all?"

"Of course I re–" Eddie stopped, trying to recall his memories of their last year of middle school. That was always a little difficult, the haziest part of his memory, but it was a long time ago. Right now though, when Mike asked him, he realized he couldn't remember. It was a blank spot in his memory. Like someone had taken an eraser and cut a line straight through that year. "Holy shit. No, I don't. Why the fuck can't I remember?!"

"No one can," Mike told him, sitting down and wiping his hands down his face. "It's like the whole town's under a spell. 34 fucking kids missing, and no one even remembers they existed in the first place."

Eddie choked down the horror in his throat. He scanned his eyes over the articles.  _Betty Ripsom, Patrick Hockstetter, Jonathan Chan, Richard Tozier—_

Tozier. 

Tozier, Tozier, Tozier. God, why did that sound so familiar? Did he know his parents? The kid in the photo had dark, wild hair and unfortunately large glasses, his eyes magnified by the lenses. His smile was wide, a little awkward, but genuine. Eddie felt a horrible, vivid sadness in the pit of his stomach as he looked at him. He reached out towards the newspaper before he could stop himself, running his finger along the border of the picture, and then along his name.

Richard Tozier.

"Eddie?"

He blinked, shaking out of his daze. He snatched his hand back, embarrassed and confused at his reaction. Mike looked concerned, but not weirded out in a way Eddie thought he probably should be. He looked... oddly understanding.

"I got stuck on him too, for a while. There's just something about the name. Like I knew it before I even read it, but I don't remember ever meeting him," Mike said quietly. "Though of course, nobody would. He was one of the 34. I could have been his best friend and I wouldn't recognize him. He doesn't look like a Richard, though. He looks like a–"

"Richie," Eddie breathed, the name falling from his lips without his permission.

Mike stared at him, his eyes wide.

Eddie swallowed thickly, gripping the strap of his bookbag. Neither of them spoke for a while.

"I just need the ones of the boys," Eddie said quietly. He picked up the articles and stacked them together. There were only about 13, so he wouldn't have to sort through too many to match up the article he carried in his backpack.

Eddie pulled up a seat and removed his backpack, zipping it open to pull the gross newspaper out, only to find that it wasn't there.

"What the hell?"

He dug through, even though there was nowhere to the paper to be hidden. There was his notebook, his pen, the Goldfish, but no newspaper. Fuck. He left it at home.

He sighed, pulling out his notebook and preparing to copy down names & the articles word-for-word. Mike rose from his chair and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'd love to keep you company, but I've got green beans and a job, so. I'll see you when you're done."

And with that he left, leaving Eddie surrounded by almost three dozen missing kid articles. He shivered, shaken to his core from what he'd discovered today. All of these kids, with homes and families and friends that forgot they existed entirely. He found his eyes drawn to the boy with the glasses again. Richie. Why had both him and Mike known it? Who was he? Who let him leave the house in a Hawaiian print shirt?

It was all too much to process. Eddie copied the 13 articles down, leaving Richard Tozier's last. He was going to sneak it home. He wished he could explain why he felt the need to take it, but even he was confused as to why he felt so strongly about it. He needed to bring it home.

When he left the library, the sun had already set a couple of hours ago. The library technically closed at 5pm, but Mike obviously let him stay way later. He practically lived there anyway, while Bill and Stan were gone. He told Eddie once that the house was too quiet and felt too empty without them. Eddie had gone home that night, alone, and imagined what it would be like to have a house full of laughter and music like they did. He was welcome any time, he knew that, but it was different. He wanted his own slice of happiness, his own best friend he got to come home to and have adventures with. He was happy for his friends for finding each other, and for pulling their heads out of their asses as early as they did. He just wished he could have something like that too.

The ride home was quiet, and a quite cold. It was a warm afternoon, but the temperature had dropped exponentially over the course of the day, and he couldn't wait to get home and throw on a sweater. He was going to the clearing again, to update the werewolf on his search. He wanted him to know he was trying his hardest to figure out who he was.

When he got home, he chained his bike to the porch stairs. As he was walking up, he spotted the book he'd thrown in the bushes the other day peeking out, and rushed back down to grab it. Thankfully, nothing was damaged, but he smacked his own forehead anyway. What kind of idiot just throws a library book in a  _bush_ andthen _forgets about it?_

He brought the book inside, setting both it and his backpack down on the kitchen table. He grabbed his Derry High Alumni sweater and threw it on quickly. He then made sure to bring the flashlight the wolf had gifted him so there wouldn't be a repeat of that unfortunate night.

When he got to the clearing, the werewolf was already waiting for him. He was sitting in Eddie's favorite spot, his tail swishing lazily behind him. Eddie practically skipped forward, both excited and nervous to share his news.

"Hey, you."

The wolf huffed in acknowledgement, and Eddie sat a couple feet from him. He pulled at the sleeves of his sweater, the cold biting his cheeks but thankfully saved by the trees from the worst of the wind. He looked up, realizing tomorrow would be a full moon. He doesn't know what to do with that information, so he just carries on with what he went there for.

"So... turns out, a lot of kids went missing the same year you did. Like, a lot. Too many. And I was talking to my friend Mike, and he said that no one even remembered any of these kids going missing. How fucked up is that? 34 kids vanish and no one can even remember their names or that they even existed."

He sighed, shutting the flashlight off and laying on his stomach. "There are only about 13 boys, but that's still a lot to sort through. I just wish you had some way to help me figure out which one was you."

To his surprise, the werewolf let out a high-pitched whine. It was short, but the sound caused tears to well up in Eddie's eyes. He was sitting up before he knew it, and his legs carried him over to the werewolf. He stared at Eddie with cautious eyes, but didn't move away. 

Eddie crossed over to the wolf's right side, tentatively sitting down next to his shoulder and, after much internal debate, resting his head on it. He felt the wolf sigh and then start to  readjust himself, pushing Eddie back towards his side and then curling around him much like he did with the teddy bear. The werewolf's head came to rest just in front of Eddie, and he reached out to gently run his fingers down the side of his muzzle. 

He felt significantly warmer, wrapped up in a huge, living werewolf blanket. He laid back against the wolf's side and sang every song he could remember the lyrics to in a slow, dragging kind of ballad. By the time he needed to go home, he was already half asleep. He looked at the wolf, his eyes closed and his breathing steady, ears still and relaxed. 

"I promise I'll find you," he whispered, his hands steady but his voice shaking. "I'm almost there I just... I'm missing something important. I know it." 

That night, he had a dream that felt more like a memory. 

_Him, Mike, Stan, Ben, Bev, and Bill were all splashing around in the quarry. Ben and Beverly were playing chicken with Mike and Stan, while Bill kept watch to make sure nobody cheated, and to keep the game fair. Eddie watched them fondly, pushing his wet hair back from his face._

_"Gotcha!"_

_Two hands grabbed him around the waist, and Eddie let out a startled sound, immediately turning around to admonish his attacker. "Richie, you asshole! You scared the shit out of me!"_

_Richie laughed, his longer hair sticking comically to his face, his handsome features unhidden for once. He left his glasses over by their clothes, and Eddie knew he couldn't see a damn thing. He probably used echolocation like a fucking bat to navigate, or something. It wouldn't surprise him. It was the only explanation for how he always managed to sneak up on Eddie, despite_ him  _being the blinder one of the two._

_"Oh come on, Eds. You know there's nothing in the water. Except pee, but that's... that's my fault," he grinned, delighted with the disgusted face Eddie made._

_"You are the grossest person alive, Richie Tozier."_

_"You say that like it's a bad thing."_

_"Because it is!"_

_"Get off of me, then."_

_Eddie looked down and realized he had wrapped himself around Richie in the process of berating him. Richie was basically carrying him in the shallow water, holding Eddie from where his knees met Richie's hips._

_"...No."_

_Richie grinned, and then leaned in for a kiss._

_"Get a room, nerds!"_

_Richie stopped right before their lips met and pulled back, whipping his head around to yell back. "Oh, you're_ definitely  _one to talk, Stan!"_

_The dream changed._

_Eddie was riding his bike down the road with his friends. A Hawaiian-pattered shirt was blowing backwards from the wind in front of him, and the person wearing it turns their head. It's Richie, in those ridiculous glasses of his._

_"You're falling behind today, Eddie Spaghetti! You better hurry up or you'll be 50 by the time you catch up."_

_"Fuck you, Richie."_

_"Oh wow, I'm flattered but... I'm not that kind of girl, Eds."_

The rest of his dreams were a blur, but he could distinctly remember seeing the Tozier kid in all of them. Well, he says dreams, but... 

He remembered that day at the quarry. That exact moment. Except Richard wasn't part of their friend group. He wouldn't have been there. 

Right? 

Eddie swung himself out of bed. What was wrong with him? Why was he so fixated on this kid? He shuffled out of his bedroom, yawning. He needed a tea, or something. But first, he wanted to see what the werewolf had left for him that morning. 

He opened his front door, looked down, and choked on his breath. 

Sitting on the steps were a pair of dirty, cracked glasses. Eddie crouched down and picked them up with a trembling hand. The frames were wide, blocky, and scratched up to hell. The arms of the glasses were abnormally bent outwards at a wide angle– like they'd been stepped on. The lenses were both cracked, almost Coke-bottle thick, and so filthy Eddie could barely see his fingers on the other side of them. 

These were Richard Tozier's glasses. 

Immediately, Eddie was hit with a barrage of images; his friends at the quarry, Richie running around with Beverly on his back, him and Richie eating ice cream together on the bench outside the shop, sleepovers at Bill's house and being paired up to share a sleeping bag with Richie, their first kiss through Eddie's open window, adventuring through the woods together hunting for ghosts, watching Richie pester Stan with no small amount of amusement, them holding hands under the lunch table at school, Richie taking a hit for him from Henry, Richie, Richie, Richie– 

Eddie gasped, coming back to reality. He was sitting on the floor, clutching the glasses to his chest, tears streaming down his face. 

That's why Richie's face looked so familiar, and why his name felt wrong. Why Mike and him both felt drawn to his article, and his picture. He had been one of them. And they forgot him. 

How could they forget?

Eddie struggled to breath, staggering into an upwards position to grab his inhaler from the kitchen table. He puffed once, inhaled, and then repeated once more. His hands were shaking so badly it took him a couple tries to even get the plastic tip into his mouth. 

The werewolf had left him those glasses. Those stupid, ugly glasses he couldn't let go of. He had them the whole time. He– 

Eddie stopped abruptly, and then frantically sorted through the rest of the werewolf's gifts. He found what he was looking for, and picked up the small scrap of fabric with the utmost care. Hawaiian print. 

The werewolf was Richie. 

He ran for the phone. 

* * *

 

"Eddie? What happened? What's wrong?" 

Mike hurried into the house, immediately opening his arms when Eddie threw himself into them. 

"You can't freak out. You can't call me crazy. You have to listen, okay?"

Mike stared at him with obvious trepidation. "Okay..." 

Eddie held the glasses behind his back. "You should probably sit." 

And so Eddie told him everything. Hearing about the werewolf at the diner, going to find it, the dead animal on his porch, and then the apples. He told him how he'd gone to visit every day for almost a month, finally saw the giant thing, and how he may or may not have cuddled with it the night of the archive room. Then, he told Mike about his dream. 

Mike listened with wide, glistening eyes are Eddie relayed the memory. "I– I don't–" 

Eddie took his hands out from behind his back and held out the glasses. Mike's breath caught in his throat, reaching over to take them, and Eddie watched as the same thing that happened to him, happened to Mike. The way his eyes glazed over as his memories fixed themselves. The space in their group that never seemed right, the weird imbalance they never seemed to be able to fix after the year Richie went missing and none of them even remembered he was theirs. 

When Mike tuned back in, he was crying too, just like Eddie had been. "Oh god,  _Richie._ " 

"I know," Eddie said quietly. 

"How could we have forgotten him? He's been out there, all alone for  _years_ and we never even knew," Mike whispered, and Eddie gathered him into a hug. 

"I need to bring him home, Mike. I just don't know how." 

Mike breathed in deeply. "Do you still have the book?" 

Eddie pointed to where it was sitting on his table. 

"Read the last chapter. I don't quite understand it but... I have a feeling you might. Richie was always more yours than ours." 

Eddie gave him a watery smile. He couldn't deny that. They all loved each other so much, they were all soulmates in the truest sense of the word, but the connections they shared within the group were different. Mike had Stan and Bill, Beverly had Ben, and Eddie had Richie, even though he lost him and all of his memories of them together for ten years. That was why Richie tried to leave him that rabbit, and the apples, and the teddy bear he now recognized as the one he stole from Eddie's bedroom one time ("To remind me of my Eds, duh"). 

Richie had been trying to tell him the whole time, and Eddie had been too lost to realize. 

He was going to fix it. He was going to make things right again. He would bring Richie home even if it took the rest of his life to figure out. 

He saw Mike off, and immediately ran for the book and threw himself in the nearest chair. He opened to the very last chapter. 

_**Chapter 10 - Homecoming** _

_I wish I could tell you I knew the magic word to bring shifted werewolves back to themselves, but I can't. Every wolf is different, every word is different. It might not even be a word at all. If you asked me, all you need is the intention._

_Anyone can fill the air with beautiful, empty words. Those words, as pleasing to hear as they may be, don't mean a damn thing. You have to mean them. They have to be rooted deep in the very core of you, and who you are. If you aren't revealing a piece of yourself with every promise you make, every declaration of love, then what is the point? Who does it matter to? What holds you accountable?_

_Werewolves, at the core of their nature, are weak. They are bullied by the pull of the moon and their love for her, forced to show their devotion in the breaking of their bones and the rearranging of their spines. But the strong human souls within crave what any ordinary person craves; meaning. Many of us are not bound by our promises, whether voluntary or not. We choose to fulfill them, or we choose to let them die. Werewolves have no choice. At the heart of every turned wolf, there is a broken promise. A promise made by somebody, at any point in their lives, that they would always be safe. That they could always find their way home, and that no harm would come to them._

_If you love a werewolf, dear reader, it is your responsibility to mend that promise. And you do this through the power of intention_ –

_whatever that means to you._

Eddie put the book down. 

Tonight was the full moon. He knew what he had to do. 

* * *

 

The woods were eerily still. The moon was high in the sky, casting shadows onto the trail and intensifying the thick atmosphere. For the first time in a long time, he was afraid to be out there. 

His flashlight gripped in one hand and Richie's glasses in the other, he forced himself to continue on. He wasn't letting Richie spend another night in the freezing cold, without a warm bed and a smiling face to greet him in the morning. Eddie had already made up the guest room. 

The clearing was empty, but he didn't expect to see Richie waiting for him, not tonight. Eddie willed his hands to stop shaking as he made his way to his usual spot, switching off the flashlight. He stood there, in just his high school sweater and jeans, and waited. 

A branch snapped behind him, and Eddie drew a bracing breath and turned around. 

The wolf looked different. His fur standing on end, raised haunches, and his mouth pulled back in a snarl. Eddie noticed his eyes weren't the warm brown he was familiar with. It was like his entire eye had been overtaken by his pupil. It was unnerving, not being able to find Richie in this creature's body like he used to be able to, albeit without knowing. 

The werewolf growled at him, his head swooped low and his ears pulled back, stalking forward slowly. Eddie did the only thing he could do. 

He started talking. 

"I– I'm  _so_ sorry. I can't imagine what these past few years have been like for you," he said quietly, knowing the wolf could hear him. "Something... happened to us. I don't fucking know what, but it's the only reason why we never came looking. We didn't know. Please, you have to understand that. It was like you'd been swiped from our memories entirely."

The wolf's demeanor didn't change. He was getting closer. Eddie wiped his free hand on his jeans, gripping the glasses for dear life. 

"I remember now. I do, I promise I do. I remember us at the quarry, getting ice cream, you stealing the fucking horn from the marching band kid. I remember you climbing into my window and busting your ass because you slipped and hit my desk. I patched you up with Care Bear bandaids, didn't I? And then you called me your Care Bear, and I almost kicked you out. Do you remember that?" 

He was getting closer, teeth still bared and ears still back, but the whites of his eyes had returned. He was listening. Richie was in there still. 

Eddie swallowed. "An apple-branch dick and balls is so like you, you know that? And leaving me a dead rabbit, you asshole? Un-fucking-believable." 

He quieted for a moment, thinking over his next words. "I miss you. All these years I missed your stupid ass and I didn't even know why it hurt so much to leave, why I could never do it permanently. Because my heart was here.  _You_ were here. And I didn't know." 

Eddie looked up, straight into the wolf's changing eyes. "I do now, though. And you're fucking crazy if you think I'm going to let you out of my sight ever again. You're out way past your curfew." 

He extended his hand out towards the wolf. 

"Time to come home now, Trashmouth." 

The wolf stopped abruptly, letting out an agonized sound and then stumbling backwards. Eddie watched in both horror and fascination as his bones cracked and shifted, his body breaking and rearranging itself for the first time in ten years. The fur fell away in the process, and the wolf reached out one enormous paw that shrank before his very eyes. Eddie ran to him. He reached his own hand out, and slowly, the paw extended and reformed, landing in Eddie's hand bare, long-fingered, and entirely human. 

Kneeling before him was a much older, much more naked Richie Tozier than he'd last seen. The man looked up, his face dirty, and squinted at Eddie like he was staring into the sun. Eddie let out a wet laugh and realized he was crying. He helped Richie up, and up, and up, – _christ how much had he fucking grown?–_ politely averting his eyes and instead looking up into Richie's face. 

He took those dirty, broken glasses, and leaned up on his tiptoes to slide them onto Richie's face. 

"Better?" He asked, his chest so full he thought he might explode from it. 

Richie coughed, his voice painfully rough from disuse. 

"Better." 

**Author's Note:**

> whew it's finally done! this took ages but im really happy with it, and i hope it was worth the wait! please let me know what you thought! i’m tozbraks on tumblr ♡


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